At first I was a frothing mass of pure vitriol; unbridled anger. Every single thing I was afraid of had come to pass and Yet Another Disappointing Season had come to a bitter end.
But as I seethed I made my way upstairs to shave my playoff beard, the itchy uncomfortable thing that was making the onset of summer less than welcome. Its presence was a show of solidarity. Being bald, my primary hairstyle is shaven but a shaved head and full beard is an odd combo so I had attended to neither region since the day before the Sharks clinched a playoff berth late in the season.
Something odd happened then. As tufts of my scraggly beard and patchy hair tumbled away into the trash bin, so did my rage. A calm, familiar sense of resignation was left beneath the sheen of excess human fur. Yes, we’ve been here before. Many times. Many, many times indeed.
The primary difference this year is that instead of lobbing hatred at Chris “Cheap Shot” Pronger or some random zebra, my frustration was all internal to the team. My team. I could pick out a handful of players who I felt were without much fault but I was surprised to find my resentment was, for once, all centered on the group as a whole because honestly I felt that more than anything they just dropped the ball. They rolled over, they let it get away… they simply didn’t want it. But I did. I wanted it. For a short time I had let myself believe it could happen, this time. This year.
How silly, of course. This is the Bay Area. This is never The Year. But I forgot that, and now I was fighting bitterness. The calm that grew as I showered the bits of hair from my shoulders and then moved to lather my face with foam and scrape away over a month’s worth of remaining stubble perhaps grew in tandem with the realization that I was, for the most part, mad at myself for caring. For holding out hope that was un-earned. What, other than a pretty good regular season, was the basis for my dream of watching the Sharks in the Finals? Expert analysis from talking heads who have fewer functioning cognitive abilities than some dust mites I’ve known? A single series against a team they beat with a deeply flawed execution, especially on the critical special teams?
No, the signs were there. This was not The Year. Had they managed to stumble into a victory over the Red Wings the hated Ducks with their despised defenseman would have made short work of them. And so my hostility was directed at myself for slipping into uncharacteristic optimism, even if only in my mind. But the realization had a healing effect. Of course they lost. Why be grouchy? It was as is always expected: No matter what else, the teams I want to win will always find a way to lose. So it goes.
The time for reflection and specifically directed anger is not now. Now is the time to say congratulations to the Red Wings: They certainly earned it. Hasek was excellent, and deserves kudos for his performance. They clearly wanted it more, even if their idiot fans don’t deserve it. You can’t hold that against the team. I hope they go on to oust the Ducks, just because I really do hate the Ducks.
My dad has a theory that you can’t feel too badly if you lose to the team that ends up winning it all. After all, they are the best so perhaps there is some consolation in thinking you might have been second best. Sometimes that line of thinking helps. Not this time. I do want the Wings to make it to the Finals, but I hope they’re soundly trounced there by Buffalo. Vengeful? Maybe.
But sue me, my team just got booted from the post season. I have a right to a little bit of angst.
This won’t be earth-shattering; it’s not terribly astute. But I can pinpoint the exact moment the Sharks were eliminated, and it wasn’t when the horn sounded in the last game. It wasn’t even when Nabokov gave away that embarrassing goal in Game 5. It was in Game 4 where the Sharks had a 2 games to 1 lead, when, with 33 seconds remaining and Detroit trailing 2-1, Detroit scored. I knew right then that: (A) SJ would lose in overtime (B) They would lose the next game in Detroit and (C) They would lose the series. The thing that frustrates me is that at precisely that instant they collectively quit. As in “Bon voyage,” “Auf wiedersien,” “Do svidaniya,” “what are your plans for the offseason?” If that were not obvious enough, one only has to contrast the furious 6 on 5 rally Detroit put on to score that goal vs. the Sharks uninspired 6 on 5 to avoid elimination in the final game. ‘Nuff said.
BTW, it dawned on me a few weeks ago that of all the sports/teams I’ve followed and supported over the years (like 45 years), the only ones to become overall champions were the 49ers (5 times). That’s a lot of “maybe next years.”
I can only assume you’re right, but that kind of makes me feel worse since the latter half of the second period and the entirety of the third period in Game 4 was the only stretch of playoff hockey the Sharks played in this year that I missed: I fell asleep and due to various circumstances was not recording that game.
I’m not superstitious enough to think that had I been watching things might have been different, but sports fandom is a strange thing (see Dave Barry’s dissertation on “concern rays” for more detail) and I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t occurred to me. At least for a moment.
Ah well.
So, how about them Giants? Oh wait, they’re a game over .500 and in fourth place. Yeah, that seems about right.